At Winter's End
by A. Lily Potter
Summary: The War may be over but there are battles yet to be fought. Accompanying her cousin to Rohan, Firiel cannot adjust to the land of the horselords. Her encounter with Eothain, Marshal of the Mark, proved that. But against the dangerous background of war Firiel embarks on a journey that will either change her life or end it. Eothain/OC Eomer/Lothiriel


**Disclaimer**: The world of Lord of the Rings belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien alone.

**Author's Note:** After a long time, I've chanced upon a new idea. Like the Chronicles of Narnia, the Lord of the Rings is a great masterpiece. My journey on Middle Earth started with the movies and it was in the Two Towers, that Rohan was first introduced. I've always admired the Rohirrim, without them the Battle of Pelennor Fields would have been lost. Initially I wanted to write an Eomer/Lothiriel story but then I decided to write about Eothain, who was Eomer's second-in-command, and one of the least known Rohirrim. This is primarily a short story, it will be completed in 8-9 chapters (perhaps an epilogue) and it is Yule-centered. The Yule theme will become more evident later on.

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_The west was getting out of gold,__  
__The breath of air had died of cold,__  
__When shoeing home across the white,__  
__I thought I saw a bird alight._

Looking for a Sunset Bird in Winter – Robert Frost

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"Bloody filthy weather." Eothain muttered to himself, lowering himself over his mount Aldor's body, to prevent the wintry winds from hitting him with their full force. "Bloody, bloody, bloody weather."

Aldor grunted in reply, throwing a glare back at him. Clearly his horse was no fonder of the cold than he was. Aldor blamed everything on him: from every mishap they got into to every rotten carrot he ate. Eothain glared back. It did not help his mood that he had not had a decent meal since two days before yesterday and had been traveling for nearly three days across the wild landscape of Rohan. He was thoroughly irritated, thoroughly wet and thoroughly unlucky. Not for the first time, he wondered why he had not opted to go to Aldburg, which lay closer to his path, than directly to Edoras.

At Meduseld, Eomer waited for him to return. Eomer – a childhood friend, a companion, a comrade and now his king – the new king of Rohan. Although it was a role, he had never been trained for, had never dreamed of having, he took it up considerably well, shouldering the burden with determination and his usual strength.

It had been five months, five months since they had marched to the black country that was Mordor, five months since they had willingly marched to their deaths, fighting against the fiery eye that was Sauron. Five months since their victory over him, since they had returned to their country with not one but two new kings. In these five months, Rohan had been rebuilt, reconstructed, repaired from the vicious onslaught that had occurred here for more than a decade. Five months in which Rohan had gained a new queen: the fey, dark-haired princess of Dol Amroth – Lothiriel of Gondor.

Eothain could not fight back the smile that threatened to rise as he thought about Eomer's panic in the weeks leading up to the wedding, his fear, his utter terror at having a wife. But then it had turned out well. Eomer was far happier than the grim-faced man who had carried his uncle's funeral casket back from Gondor.

It had been easy for them, he reflected. They were both willing to compromise for one another, both trying to fit in, both trying to make things easier for the other. And without even saying it, in a mere two weeks, they had fallen in love. A little wistfully, Eothains wondered if he would ever have the same love. Probably not.

Shaking his head, he surveyed the darkened horizon and to his relief saw the distant lights of Meduseld. A sight for sore eyes.

These five months had been life-changing for them all. Rohan had suffered, many of its warriors fallen. There were dead to be buried, injured to be healed, widows and orphans to be cared for. The badly diminished _eoreds_ had to be replaced and sent out to perform their duty. The new marshals had to be made and in the midst of preparing for Theoden's funeral, Eowyn and Eomer's weddings and rebuilding what was left of Rohan, Eothain had no time to reflect on his future.

Indeed, when Eomer had first told him about his decision, Eothain had laughed outright. Not in the least because they were sitting in a tavern, surrounded by drinking men but because Eomer was conversing with another. It had taken a painful punch from his best friend to bring Eothain back to his senses and within a day, he was a Marshal of the Mark, second only to the king and with the largest _eored_ of Rohan under him. He was also given the garrison of Aldburg to command: Aldburg – where both he and Eomer had grown up before coming to Edoras as orphans.

And that was how, Eothain found himself, galloping through Rohan in the cold midst of winter, gathering information from his scouts and observing for himself the defense of his country.

Aldor neighed and halted suddenly. Eothain frowned and reached across to smack his head but Aldor reared back and would not move further. Eothain narrowed his eyes against the wind and saw what had caused the horse to stop: it was a hooded figure, lying on the ground at an awkward angle and though, Eothain could not see its face, the lump moved around proving that it was indeed alive.

Silently, he slipped off Aldor's back, motioning for the horse to remain back. With his customary agility that defied his huge figure, he landed down and raised his blade. Although the war was over, the fights weren't and there were still random groups of orcs roaming the land. No one could be too careful. But he advanced forward, his senses heightened by his tension. When he was close enough, in the figure's vision, the hooded head shot up and it cried out:

"Who are you?" It was undeniably feminine but Eothain would not let his guard down. He called back, shouting so that his voice would be heard.

"It is you who must state your name and your business here! Lower your hood so that I may see your face! _Now_!"

"You do not need to shout, I can hear you perfectly well." The woman muttered and grudgingly lowered her hood. While the darkness made it difficult to discern her features, he could see the artfully styled dark hair and fair skin. Her eyes, gray as the stormy sky, glared at him, shooting out fire. "Stay well away from me!"

"Are you injured?" Eothain demanded, still not sheathing his sword but he warily came closer.

"It should not matter to you! Stay away! Do not come any nearer!" She spat out. Bracing herself, she sprang up, wavering slightly and though she managed to stand up, one step resulted in her slipping back to the ground. His warrior's reflexes kicked in and Eothain lunged to prevent her from falling at an angle that would definitely injure her. His arms enclosed her slender waist and he held her up but she shrieked at him at a volume that hurt his ears and lashed out.

Eothain drew back as her nails scratched his face. One of them caught his cheek and he nearly yelped as the sharpness raked across his skin, blood welling up on one side.

"I should leave you here to freeze!" He snarled at the Gondorian, grasping her wrists to prevent another onslaught. Behind him Aldor reared back obviously discomfited by his owner's tone but the Gondorian just focused her eyes on him and said haughtily:

"You would not leave a lady to freeze in the night!"

Eothain glared, knowing that since she was a woman, and a Gondorian at that, he would have to help her. He retorted angrily:

"A _lady_ would not scratch a person coming to aid her!"

"A _gentlemen_ would not go grabbing at ladies he hasn't been introduced to!" She shot back, her gray eyes flashing.

Eothain swore colorfully, wondering how and why he had landed himself in such a predicament. Clearly the woman didn't understand his Rohirrim curses for she cocked her head to a side. For a moment, Eothain seriously debated between leaving her and returning to the warmth of Meduseld.

"Will you not help me?" She demanded, holding out a gloved hand. Against the tan of his, hers was as fair as that of elves. Eothain sighed, knowing that his honor and his pride would not allow him to leave her so he grasped her hand and deliberately yanked her to her feet without stretching out a hand to stable her.

She shrieked at the suddenness and collapsed back, holding her ankle, her face scrunched up in pain.

"You could have been gentler!" She accused her tone high. Eothain crossed his hands, careful to hide the smirk threatening to appear.

"Gentle with what?" He said mockingly. The woman flushed, catching his meaning and glared at him.

"Does everyone in Rohan delight in making coarse conversation?"

"As much as the people of Gondor delight in singing their own praises."

Aldor nickered impatiently, prodding Eothain on the back with his huge head and Eothain affectionately rubbed his head, murmuring soothing words in Rohirric. Stealing himself for the battle ahead, he lifted her up, careful to keep the weight off her injured foot.

"Lean against Aldor while I check your injury."

He almost expected more snappy comments but she silently obeyed and he knelt to study her foot. From what he could judge, and he had decent enough experience, she had only sprained her ankle slightly. There was no bruise, no swelling, no cut and she was certainly not as injured as her cries of pain made it out to be.

Quelling his irritation, he glanced at her and said: "You have barely sprained your ankle."

"Barely?" She seemed outraged. "It is too painful to be 'barely'"

"Well it is," He replied shortly, wondering if this woman had seen true injuries: the swollen cuts, the endless flowing of blood, horrible burns and gashes that drained life. "You are perfectly able to walk."

Disbelief set across her features. "I will not walk anywhere! I am injured!"

"The only alternate is to ride." He told her, patting Aldor's flank since the horse was ready to throw off the woman.

She frowned: "You have a spare horse with you?"

"_Grant me the patience not to strangle her." _Eothain prayed, knowing that this woman was testing his limit. "You have to ride with me."

Now she looked positively aghast and said: "That would be unseemly!"

Finally, Eothain lost it. Glaring at her, he snapped: "If that is the case, then you can wait here while I ride to Edoras and send someone more seemly to escort you back. I am tired and have been at a long journey: the least you can do is be a little courteous!"

"You are the one being rude, not I." She sniffed and then glanced around as though waiting for someone to spring out and offer her aid. "Oh very well. Help me up."

"Are you sure it would be seemly?" He asked mockingly but did so anyway, lifting her up onto the horse's back. Aldor observed the new rider with clear dismay and Eothain wondered if the horse had absorbed some of his own feelings. From the awkward way in which she sat and the wild glances she cast around, Eothain guessed she had never ridden a horse in her life. Another blessing for him, he thought moodily.

Expertly, he climbed after her, his arms going around her from either side to urge the horse forward.

"Don't you have any stirrups? Reins?" Her voice was pitched high. "How will you control it?"

"Aldor is a horse, not an it." He curbed his annoyance and added stiffly, "The Rohirrim do not use reins unless in battle. Our horses know what to do, they are trained since birth."

"How am I supposed to hold on?" She demanded, straining away from him as though he carried a lethal contagion.

"With your knees." And left it at that. There was no use elaborating, she would not understand any of it. And she didn't, still glancing up and down.

"You haven't told me your name."

"Eothain." He replied shortly as Aldor set up at a brisk trot and she fell back.

"You know Lord Eomer?" She asked, craning her neck to look at him. Eothain wondered how he could force her to quiet down. He also wondered if Lothiriel would mind if he brought back her cousin strangled.

"Of course I know him! Any more questions?"

"How do you know him?"

Eothain resisted the urge to push her off the horse. "How and why I know him is none of your business. Nor is it your business to ask me my rank or my relationship with him."

"Won't you ask my name?" She questioned, glancing back at him.

Finally Eothain had had it. There were only two Gondorians in court: Lothiriel and her cousin, Firiel of Dol Amroth. Who was currently very eager to have him through her over the side of a galloping warhorse. His voice was low with irritation.

"No because I do not intend to speak to you again."

Thankfully, his only answer was the thundering of Aldor's hooves.

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The next morning, the ancient rooster, which had lived in Edoras for as long as Eothain could remember, woke him up with his persistent crowing.

"_One day when I get my hands on that old hen." _Eothain thought to himself, tugging on a roughly woven tunic of green and his leather boots. His sword lay newly polished by the weapon-master of Rohan and he hastily strapped it before striding towards the Great Hall of Meduseld.

There was scarcely anyone around and the housekeeper, Helga who had practically raised him, set out a basket of freshly made bread. Eothain devoured two of them in minutes and Helga waved a finger at him, sighing and wiping her hands on her apron. "I do not understand how you can not be fat after eating practically all my stores. You are always hungry. I suppose it's the wars that keep you from getting fat."

Eothain winked at her and threw a piece of bread in the air, expertly catching it in his mouth. Helga ignored the gesture and instead sat down, smacking him on the shoulder.

"Heard you brought back the Gondorian last night."

Eothain glanced at her: her dark brown eyes were trained shrewdly on him and there was a noticeable smile on her face. "I did. And I regretted it every step of the way."

Helga nudged him with her foot under the table. "Don't you go around insulting her. She's a cousin to Lothiriel-Queen."

"She has a good deal less graciousness and courtesy than her cousin." Eothain muttered. "Called me a _barbarian_. And scratched my face like a hellion."

"You probably did something wrong. You usually do." Helga chuckled at his offended expression and then added. "You're not the only one. Last night, one of the guards offered to escort her, she called him quite an extensive number of words, none of which were polite. Most of us avoid her when we can and she avoids us. Works out well, see?"

Eothain paused thoughtfully, chewing on the crust of the loaf. He could very well see why the Rohirrim wanted her to stay away. They were honest, hardworking people who were willing to help others and didn't give a fig about those who didn't.

"How long does she intend to stay here?"

Helga shrugged and then she warned him, wagging another finger. "Don't say anything to her, you understand? Prince Imrahil sent her himself."

"The Gondorians probably got tired of her. The question is where the Rohirrim will send her after we get tired." Eothain waved a hand dismissively and looked around in dismay to find that he had devoured all of the bread. "Was that the last of the bread?"

Helga glared at him. "The last of the bread, _psha_! You eat every meal as if it is your last."

"Well you never know, Helga." Eothain kept his tone devoid of all sharpness and looked at her innocently. "Your cooking can send a man to the healer any day."

He ducked as an empty basket flew over his head.

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Firiel was standing in front of the hand-carved mirror in her chambers, her ankle quite alright by the Rohirric healer's standards, when Lothiriel strode in, in a fine temper. In the clear reflection, Firiel noticed with a tug of irritation that Lothiriel wore the dull woolen dress that was common to the Rohirrim. She was in no mood to deal with her cousin so she calmly continued brushing her long hair.

"Clearly it must be some urgent business for you to seek me out, Lothiriel." Firiel did not turn around to acknowledge her. "Otherwise why come to me when you have the horse-ladies?"

"That is enough, Firiel!" Lothiriel snapped her tone sharper than ever. She stared at her Firiel's rigid, highly held shoulders. "Day by day, your attitude gets worse."

"What have I done now?" Firiel questioned, setting down the brush and twisting to face Lothiriel. "It is always I who is wrong, isn't it?"

"You are the one who insulted the Halma the previous night. You are the one who criticized Helga's cooking. You are the one who insults the Rohirrim at every turn!"

Firiel bit her lip to keep from snapping back and instead her cheeks flushed at the accusations Lothiriel threw at her. It was all true of course. She did not deny any of it.

"You notice the insults I throw at them but you are blind to what they say to me!"

"And pray what do they say to you? That you are an insolent, ill-bred Gondorian?" Lothiriel retorted, her voice rapidly rising in its intensity. "They are right. And it would work best for you if you tried to adjust to Rohan."

Although stung deeply, Firiel would not back down. Her hurt fueled her anger and she replied just as sharply: "Adjust to Rohan?! Why should I when you have clearly adjusted well enough! I am a Gondorian. Do you even remember your country? Next you'll be telling me to get married and adjust to these people. You want me to become a barbarian like these people?"

"Stop being so selfish!" Lothiriel paced around the room, her hands in the air, her loose skirts flowing behind her. "Selfish! That's what you have become!"

"I'm being selfish?" Firiel stared at Lothiriel unfalteringly, her eyes staring straight ahead. "You are the one who keeps me here as a pet, showing me off to your Rohirric _ladies _and then preferring them to me as if I am of no consequence. Have you even spent one second in my company since you've arrived?"

"I'm a queen! I expected you would understand! My cousin, my friend but it is only you who does not. Do you think it is easy for me? Do you think I want to abandon my ways? I belong to Rohan now, their queen, so I must become Rohirric! As a pet! How dare you, Firiel?"

"You barely seem like a friend." Firiel commented bitterly. "You do not even look at me now. All you do is find faults in me."

"It is your attitude which repels me. You treat the Rohirrim as if they are worthless. As if they are somehow inferior to you. They rode to our aid!" Lothiriel made an effort to control herself, clenching her fists. "I want you with me because I trust you like no other. I want you to become a better person. And I believe you can truly be happy in Rohan."

"You are mistaken then." Firiel replied coldly and then bowed deeply. "If you will excuse me, my lady, I prefer to be left alone."

"If you keep this up, Firiel, then one day you will be left alone."

Firiel did not reply, twisting back to brush her hair, glancing at herself in the mirror.

Lothiriel stared uncomprehendingly at her and then after a long silence, she backed out, though not without throwing a disbelieving glance over her shoulder.

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The War of the Ring was far from over. The tense posture of the men gathered in the room confirmed that.

"Orcs still roam around Rohan. Unorganized, random groups of less numbers. No doubt a quarter of our eoreds." Elfhelm's stern face did not betray any sense of fear but there was unease in his deep eyes as he turned and sat back down on his wooden chair. "So far they haven't openly attacked any village."

"No doubt they understand that they are badly outnumbered and with Sauron's fall, they aren't going to get any support any time soon." Another rider put in, his golden mane glowing in the light of the fire.

"Aye but how long that holds true is unknown." Erkenband's deep voice easily filled the already silent chambers. The huge man stood hulking on the corner of the table, beside the king. "Sauron won't be gone forever. What if these orcs gather together? Assemble themselves as they did under Saruman?"

Eothain exchanged a worried glance with Eomer, who so far sat silently, on the corner-most chair, his face sunk in lines of thoughtfulness. He had already told Eomer what he had come across while traveling back from his scouting expeditions. In the brief meeting, Eomer inclined his head and Eothain cleared his throat, standing up.

"I think the greater cause for worry is that it is not only the orcs who are roaming around but the Uruk-hai as well."

There was a silence so painfully intense that the crackling of the fire could be heard and then an uproar was created. All the men present began to speak at once, throwing off curses and random exclamations, oaths and disbelieving cries filled the room until a punctured shout from Eomer stopped everyone in mid-speak.

"It is true." He stood up, hands behind his back and faced the marshals. "Reports have been coming in from our scouts and some even from the Rangers of Ithilien."

"My lord, most of the groups of Uruk-hai were vanquished but there is not doubt that many escaped. They are few and like the Orcs widely distributed and spread out. Would it not be easy to send out our scouts and pinpoint the general locations?" Gamling questioned practically, his voice neutral. "It would bode better if they were completely purged."

"While that is indeed the best solution we have," Eothain interjected, running a hand through his hair. "The Uruk-hai are much more intelligent than the Orcs. Orcs can be easily detected because they leave their trails and more often than not, they prey where they can easily be found. But from our experience, we know that Uruk-hai are not quite so foolish. There were three reported cases of Uruk-hai being seen. One from a group of Rangers in Ithilien and two from our own scouts. And they were all a great distance apart. Furthermore, the Uruk-hai did not invade any town or any area, they preyed off those who wandered alone. Clearly they are concealing themselves."

"Do you mean to imply that there are perhaps more Uruk-hai than we believed?" Elfhelm asked, rubbing his temples. He had been summoned in emergency and it was clear he had not gotten a rest in a long time.

"More and rapidly gathering." Eothain said grimly. "I fear that Rohan's battles are not yet over."

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"I am afraid that's not possible, Firiel." Lothiriel's voice was icy, no doubt remembering last night's harsh exchange. She viciously stabbed the needle through the embroidery cloth in her lap. "You cannot leave right now."

"Lothiriel-" She began, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. She had finally cornered her friend after spending agonizing hours with the Rohirrim women. News of their row had spread and Firiel was sure they were the subject of gossip around court.

"Oh, is it no longer 'my queen'?" Lothiriel mocked. "You seemed quite eager to call me that last night."

"And you seemed quite eager to have me reform my ways." Firiel replied. She was dressed in the Gondorian-styled court dresses with long sweeping sleeves and a see-through veil covering her hair. "Well I cannot change as you have and for that I require permission to leave at once. I want to return."

"And I said that is not possible!" She put down her embroidery and glared at Firiel. "Rohan is not safe and for that matter neither is Gondor. You cannot travel alone."

"Of course not. Send an escort with me."

Lothiriel's hands itched to slap her cousin, to force some sense, some understanding into her. "That too is not possible, given the circumstances."

"_What_ circumstances?" Firiel tone was accusing. "Is this another ploy to keep me in this wretched land."

"Be careful with your words, Firiel. This land is my home. Eomer cannot spare any men to escort you."

"Spare?" Firiel asked incredulously. "His precious _eoreds_ are present everywhere. Can he not send me with one of them?"

"The eoreds are out to protect the land not escort women to foreign countries." Lothiriel sighed. "Most of them have been dispatched already. All of them have expeditions to carry out."

Even in her own anger, Firiel could not miss the tense worry underlying Lothiriel's words. Immediately, she asked: "Is something the matter? Is Rohan threatened?"

Lothiriel looked startled but then slowly she nodded. Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. "Reports of Uruk-hai and orcs gathering are coming in. Eomer had sent the eoreds to different parts of Rohan to get more information and clear out the random groups. But there is more. Perhaps they are combing together, massing to form a greater army."

"Army?" Firiel felt sick to her stomach. In all her life, she had never encountered an Orc but rumors, each more terrifying than the last, had reached her. The Uruk-hai were even more notorious. The prospect of facing an army of Orcs was too frightening to be true. She could not believe how she had landed in such a situation.

She had been safe and happy in Dol Amroth and suddenly Imrahil had to marry his daughter to a barbarian king and send her packing along as well.

She hated it. Orcs, Uruk-hai, the Rohirrim with their problems.

"So for now," Lothiriel turned back to her sewing, turning away from Firiel. "You are stuck in Rohan. For how long I cannot say. But until this mess is sorted out, you cannot leave. Rohan isn't safe to travel alone. And Rohan may have to go to war again."

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Many of you might already be considering Firiel as an absolute menace. She is selfish. She is petty. She is arrogant. I think that everyone has flaws and Firiel's flaws are these. Sometimes, life events change us all, forcing us to change our perspective and maybe that is what will happen with Firiel. Who knows?

I mentioned above and I will mention again, this is a short story and will not be substituted for my longer Narnian fanfictions. This is a fiction I came up with to write in my holidays. Hopefully, it will be completed by the end of the vacations.

Reviews are, as ever, very welcome. Please do leave a comment. Anything at all. Any suggestions or comments or criticisms. Everything is appreciated.

A. L. Potter


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